


Raven and Covey Leader

by Tarlan



Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9576896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: John is not the only one who needs to accept what he is; Sam needs to come full circle too.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galerian_ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/gifts).



> For **galerian_ash** : I've ignored the novels, basing the story on the first three movies only. I've also taken liberties with their ages to make it a slightly smaller age gap of about 12 years. I really hope you like this story :)

He had tried to stay away, believing he'd fucked up John's life enough already. In 'Nam they'd been close - too close. For six years he'd helped to chip away the rough edges and make John one of the best combat soldiers he'd ever seen. They'd fought side-by-side as part of an elite team dropped into some of the worst areas, exposed to who knew what as the US forces deployed napalm and Agent Orange to destroy North Vietnam's means of feeding its troops. War made people do crazy things. Towards the end with emotions running high and adrenaline flowing, and in the heat of the moment he'd been weak.

They'd fucked.

He could still recall the glorious feel of John's heated skin against his, the ripple of muscle as they moved together, pressing against each other, with his hand trapped between them, wrapped around both their hard cocks. He could still taste the deep, almost frantic kisses as they tried to prove to each other they were still very much alive, breath catching as they climaxed moments apart. It had happened so fast and had been over so quickly, and they could have rolled away afterwards and pretended nothing had happened, but instead they'd lingered. They'd held on tight as the adrenaline ebbed away, finding something close to solace and tenderness that soothed the raw wounds on their psyches from all they'd seen and done for their country. Once sanity returned Sam had made his excuses and, like a coward, he had run all the way back to the States leaving John to face the future alone and confused.

"I didn't learn about Joey until much later... about the kid with the shoe shine box who blew him to pieces." Sam hunched in on himself. "I didn't know Delmar had died of cancer."

He looked across the fire at John's face held in profile. He could see the half-Navajo in him so clearly against the flickering flames, strong and silent. His stockier musculature came from his German descent, the surname Rambo a bastardization of Reimbold. Among the Navajo John had another name so Sam had called Baker Team his flock of birds: John was Raven, and he was Covey Leader.

John remained silent.

"Johnny?"

Sam still blamed himself for what had happened in that small town; a town that, personally, should have been renamed Hope-less. He hadn't seen John in almost five years, not since that moment of weakness a few weeks before the fall of Saigon, and it had taken all his control to remain quiet and strong as John broke down in front of him, talking of Joey and Delmar Berry, and of dreams shattered by the atrocities of war. It had been so hard holding John, feeling his heart break as he wished fervently for the impossible. So he had called him 'son' as a reminder he had a responsibility towards John as a mentor, perhaps even a father figure rather than as a lover, wanting to keep a respectful distance between them.

And in response, John had called him... 

"Sir?"

At the trial Sam had done his best to plead for leniency as a character witness, but feelings were still riding high against Vietnam veterans with names like 'baby killer' sticking like putrid mud. Perhaps if John had still been in the forces then he might have fared better at a military trial but the civilian court didn't take so kindly to the amount of property damage and civilian casualties - though only one fatality - despite the proof of police brutality coming to light. Seven years breaking rocks under the Arizona sun was harsh considering John's exemplary military record so when an opportunity came to free him from his sentence five years early, and possibly even gain John a Presidential pardon, Sam had pushed for it, calling in every favor owed to make it happen.

At the end of the war the US senate had voted against paying a 3.2 billion dollar 'ransom' so the North Vietnamese refused to return all prisoners-of-war. Murdock wanted proof of POWs for the American public so they could force the government to demand the release of any Americans still held captive years later. It was a good and just cause, and one close to Sam's heart. He and John had seen the inside of a Vietnamese prisoner-of-war camp, suffering daily torture at the hands of their Vietcong captors until they managed to escape, so Sam knew John would see it the same way.

The memory of those livid scars stirred up other memories of his moment of weakness and their life-affirming sex. If he closed his eyes he could still see the crisscross scars from the beatings John had sustained, his fingers having mapped them as they lay together. His own physical scars were fewer in number all things considered, but he recalled the tenderness of John's fingers and the soft, almost reverent kisses laid upon them. He wanted to feel that again but while he remained in the military his life wasn't his own.

Sam had made the mistake of trusting Murdock, only realizing his error when Murdock ordered Ericson to abort the rescue when John was right there, only a few feet below the helicopter. The gun pushed into Sam's face convinced him to choke back his anger and fear because he'd be no use to John at all if he was shot in the head and his body tossed out of the helicopter - no doubt a suitable story would have been concocted to cover up his murder. Alive he might be able to figure out Murdock's game, perhaps persuade him to send in the rescue mission he'd always planned to lead if they did locate any POWs. He should have known Murdock had a different political agenda which didn't entail giving closure to the hundreds of families still waiting to hear what had become of their loved ones. Certainly he'd had his suspicions. From their reactions Sam knew most of Murdock's people were not aware of Murdock's true purpose and he hoped to use that to his advantage because he didn't intend to leave John rotting in another prisoner of war camp, swapping crushing rocks for backbreaking labor in the fields, and for torture.

Of course John not only managed to rescue himself but all the POWs at the camp too, taking out most of their captors in the process, and Sam didn't stand in his way when he went gunning for Murdock. The man had drawn first blood when he ordered his men to leave John and that POW behind.

Later Sam didn't stand in John's way when he decided not to go back to the States, wishing he could resign his commission and go with John but someone had to make sure those POWs got home. Someone had to make sure the American people learned the truth, and ensure John got that Presidential pardon for the role he'd played in freeing these men. At least that was the excuse he made but inside Sam knew he was still running hard from that one night in Saigon, and from the look in Johnny's eyes, John knew it too.

The fire kicked up sparks, bringing him back to the present.

"Thought I told you to drop the 'sir'. You're not under my command anymore," he stated, adding more kindling to the small campfire.

Sam hissed quietly as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the pull of the stitches closing the bullet wound. John had his leg propped up on a balled-up blanket, stretched out in front of him, the knee slightly bent to ease pressure on the wound. They made a right pair, battered and bruised, with more scars to add to the ones sustained over years in combat. It was the deeper wounds with no visible scar that hurt the most; the sight of suffering, the loss of good friends, of comrades, brothers-in-arms, some in the most horrific ways. He hadn't known John was there when Joey was killed, and had felt a chill running down his spine when he realized how easily it could have been John instead of Joey that day. He'd tightened his hold on John, almost tempted to put John out of his misery. Put them both out of their misery because he wasn't certain he could live in a world that no longer held John.

The past and present seemed to merge together, their paths crisscrossing like the scars on their backs.

Perhaps he was always looking for excuses to find John because a few years after the POW mission he was climbing the hundreds of steps leading up to a Buddhist monastery in Thailand. He'd convinced the Pentagon they needed John Rambo on this mission to deliver stinger missiles to the Afghan rebels and stealthily document Russian military war crimes. If he had found John at the monastery before seeing him stick fighting then he might have backed off but Sam had recognized the look of someone caught between worlds, unable to find peace with what they were. He saw that look every time he stared at his own reflection in the mirror while thinking about John, and he thought of John often, forcing himself to keep his distance, to give John a chance to find happiness somewhere. Anywhere. His own happiness was immaterial.

He never expected to be turned down and yet for the first time he felt a weight lift off his chest. Back in 'Nam he'd been John's commanding officer, his team leader, and in the eyes of the military he had taken advantage of the younger man when they fucked that one time. He'd broken the fraternization regulations, broken his oath to the country he served, and it didn't matter how he felt about John. How much he loved him. The guilt had kept him away, afraid he would weaken again, but John was no longer a soldier under his command, no longer a protege being molded into the perfect killing machine. John had the power and strength to say no to his former CO and mentor, to his former lover. No one owned him anymore. No one could dictate where he went... or what he did with another man.

John looked back at him across the fire and he spoke as if he had read Sam's thoughts. "You still running?"

Sam blinked hard, thinking back to the days spent in the Russian fortress being beaten by the guards and strung up like a piece of meat. The US government would deny he was on a sanctioned mission, effectively throwing him to the wolves, so when he first heard the Afghan collaborator say John's name he thought he was hearing what he wanted to hear, afraid to have his hopes raised and then dashed if it was just wishful thinking on his part. Everyone wanted a Knight in Shining Armor to come to their rescue but reality was a mean bitch, so he had dampened his hopes and refused to believe in the possibility of rescue until he heard John's voice right outside his cell door. The hardest part was telling John to go, to leave him behind, but he'd die for John if that's what it took to make him leave. Fortunately John was not some hot-headed, gung-ho hero but a trained combat soldier who could read when the odds were against him. Better to retreat and live to fight another day when the odds were better.

Sam's ribs still hurt from the brutal blows of an angry Russian guard and his commander, but Sam had learned how words could be used as weapons too, stabbing fear into the heart of the Russian colonel. God would have mercy but John wouldn't, because John had been trained to exterminate the enemy.

"The Russian interrogator crowed over the impending attack on the Afghan village, but he wasn't so full of himself later. I guess you had something to do with that."

"I came here for you," he murmured almost too softly to hear. "I'll always be here for you. He made it my war." John looked him straight in the face. "I'm not the only one who needs to come full circle."

Sam nodded. Just a few years shy of fifty, Sam didn't have to remain in the military as he'd put in more than his twenty years service and could retire with a good pension, but he was a soldier like John. He was molded from the same clay, and baked by the same trials of fire. He couldn't see either of them living long enough to sit on the front porch in rockers, old and grizzly, reliving their heyday in ever more grandiose stories embellished on each retelling. Yet he wanted the impossible. He wanted to go back to that last day in Saigon, to the room with its creaky ceiling fan and the rumpled, sweat-soaked sheets where he lay in a tangle of limbs with John, breathing in his scent, his life. He wanted strong hands holding him tight, and soft lips worshiping him as they forgot the war and all its horrors for a brief moment in time. He wanted to be loved by John, and to love him back in return with all that entailed.

"Raven, this is Covey Leader... I want you," he whispered back softly.

John smiled and opened his arms, patiently waiting until Sam threw away the last of his fears and shuffled around the fire into his welcoming arms, feeling them wrap around him carefully, holding him close. Sam felt the soft press of a kiss against his hair as he laid his head against John's strong shoulder, breathing in the scent of him that hadn't changed over the long years spent apart, of Cordite and sweat.

"I guess I've finally stopped running," he murmured.

"About time, Sam."

END  
 


End file.
